


Duurion Tirnel: Days of Skyrim

by killua (david_strider)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Falling In Love, Gay Male Character, M/M, Multiple Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Running Away, Self-Discovery, Sexual Content, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/david_strider/pseuds/killua
Summary: Duurion Tirnel is a dark elf living in Skyrim, born and raised in Cyrodiil. Timid by nature, Duurion struggles with his interpersonal relationships and sense of self after surviving the dragon attack in Helgen. What begins as emotional turmoil from his blooming relationship with Lydia, Duurion finds himself in a series of predicaments after beginning an affair with Vilkas.Young Duurion runs away and finds a new family in the Dark Brotherhood- followed by his first feelings of love, trust, and what it means to have a family.





	Duurion Tirnel: Days of Skyrim

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time writing a Skyrim. This is meant to turn into a series about my new dark elf character, Duurion Tirnel, and his experiences. He is gay, but has not yet discovered his sexuality as that was not something regularly discussed back then. More tags will be added as needed. Sorry if it begins a little slow, I'm excited to write more about my character, however! 
> 
> ** Please note, Duurion is not the Dragonborn - he was imprisoned with the Dragonborn, Esma, at the time of the ambush. He is simply the Listener and an original character. My Dragonborn, Esma, may also be present in this story at some point. 
> 
> This is a story of self discovery!

At the daring young age of twenty-six, Duurion Tirnel found himself aged more than his elders; permanent plum-shaded dark circles lingering below his reddened eyes. Morning arrived after what felt like _weeks_ of attempted rest. His housecarl of Whiterun, Lydia, appeared concerned but knew not to press—Duurion had always been a quiet man; not to mention _timid_ in both personality and looks. If Lydia was honest, she fell in love with him the moment she met him—Duurion’s skin had been cold as ice, a slight blue undertone gleaming where circulation flowed more freely. Perhaps it was the long black hair that softened his features—waves down to his mid back. Above all, his eyes where truly captivating—like no dark elf’s that she had seen. His eyes appeared the traditional dark crimson with hints of black; however, when one was close enough to him—there was an evident golden hue in the circles of his irises. The flaxen values had always comforted Lydia; bringing forth a softness in his eyes that she had not seen in another man. Truthfully, when she first met the dark elf—she could not identify his gender at first glance; but perhaps his androgyny was another aspect of him that she loved endlessly—she quickly realized she would love him regardless if he were a man or a woman.

 

She had been his housecarl for merely a couple months, and yet, she shied away from telling him of her desires towards him. Something Lydia immediately noticed was Duurion’s humbleness in the presence of those around him; he did his best to not allow himself to be selfish. Part of it was frustrating; because Lydia truly _wanted_ him to be selfish—wanted him to wake her fully when his nightmares struck—hoped that he would confide in her when he needed her most—wished he would inform her of his _own_ desires. She supposed it made sense, however—based on what she had gathered, Duurion raised himself from a young age, therefore, he would do his best to maintain his own sense of independence. It was a late night in Sun’s Dusk when Lydia found herself sitting next to her thane in the main room, the fire keeping both of them warm from the brisk cold of the outdoors.

 

“Are you alright, dearest Lydia?” Duurion asked. _Of_ _course,_ he would be so humble as to ask _her_ if _she_ was okay—yet he was the one out adventuring; seeing horrors unimaginable to his housecarl. She could defend herself in battle, surely; but the emotional burdens that Duurion returned with after each adventure hinted to her that there was more than simply combat pressing in the Dunmer’s life.

 

She chuckled, in which the opposing’s eyes questioned. “… It’s truly humorous, that even after all you go through each day—it’s _me_ that you’re concerned about,” Lydia jested. “Are _you_ alright, my Thane?” Lydia redirected the question. It was no surprise that Duurion had not wished to speak about himself.

 

“Yes,” Duurion breathed, his eyes averting from her. This time, Lydia _did_ press—peering at him as though she was unsatisfied with his answer. “… Well, perhaps. “I’m unsure of where this all leads,” He admitted. “The remembrance of that dragon attacking Helgen those months ago… My life has changed so much recently, that I’m unsure of where I’m headed. Where do I go from here?” Duurion questioned as Lydia listened; a hint of concern expressed on her face.

 

She finally spoke. “… Wherever you go, my Thane…” Lydia paused. “Could I go with you?” The timid tone of her voice caught Duurion off guard; recognizing exactly what his housecarl had been insinuating.

 

“Darling Lydia,” The Dunmer chuckled slightly. “You may accompany me wherever I go.” Although mere seconds had gone by; it felt like hours in which Duurion had recognized his dearest housecarl staring longingly at his lips, and then kissed him gracefully. The Dunmer gasped ever so slightly, in which Lydia pulled away.

 

“I’m sorry, my thane—” She responded, a slight embarrassment hinted in her voice. Duurion quickly interrupted, a slight smirk on his lightened features. “It’s quite alright—if I minded, I would have told you.”

 

Truthfully, Duurion could not remember the last time that someone kissed him—let alone with a true sense of longing. It had definitely been a few years. Perhaps one of Duurion’s problems was that each time someone kissed him, he did not gain the feeling of “butterflies” and enlightenment that everyone spoke of—in fact, his first kiss as a teenager was slightly uncomfortable, and the loss of his virginity had been far worse. There was an imminent sense of pressure and desire to conform that the Dunmer had felt since he was young—however, ever since the dragon attack—his life had been nothing if not _lack_ of conformity.

 

“My thane—may I ask you something?” Lydia questioned, tucking a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

 

“Ask me anything,” Duurion responded earnestly.

 

“Are you… Interested?” A slight hesitation penetrated her voice. “Are you interested in me?”

 

Despite their previously exchanged kiss and other expressed intimacy; Duurion was nothing short of unsure of what it truly meant to be “interested” in someone. All of the times he had expressed interest in fellow women, he had found himself lingering on thoughts of other matters of importance—on history and learning the properties of magic. At times, the Dunmer wondered if he could possibly _feel_ romantic attraction towards others; but he simply admitted that perhaps he had just not found “the right one.” The bounds of conventionality lingered in his head—the desire for a _normal_ life, with a _normal_ wife, and _normal_ home. Truly, Duurion was anything _but_ normal—but surely, he could pretend.

 

“Perhaps,” Duurion admitted. While it was not a lie, it was by no bounds the entire truth. He was uncertain of what he wanted; and hoped endlessly that he would find it. Would he find what he was looking for in his dearest housecarl, Lydia? Or elsewhere? While he was unsure at the moment, he supposed that he could find himself content in the nearest opportunity; and would hope that he may find happiness along the way.

 

“ _I am yours, my Thane_.”

 

__

 

That night, Duurion dreamt again of his experience at Helgen—the daunting dragon tempting his thoughts with the acknowledgement that life, truly; would _never_ be what it once was. He was alone, and had always been—so what did it matter? Why did this dragon taint his thoughts?

 

_“My ancestors are smiling upon me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” The echoed words of the soldier lingered, for far too long. Duurion Tirnel could feel his face pressed against the moistened block, a threatening blade inches from his neck. The wind caught momentarily as an estranged sound filled the air; an echoing roar from those same mountains he had been peering at on the wagon ride. Strands of long black hair fell into his face as the world seemed to collapse in moments—the reverberation of the ground was enough to cause vertigo as the Dunmer fell to the ground. As the shouts and screams of civilians lingered in the air, the dark elf remained frozen until a fellow soldier practically dragged him into a nearby safe haven. Duurion had never recognized how quickly life went by when in imminent danger; however, it felt as though life had been dragging him from underneath the rug._

 

Soon, the world faded to black—black, black, black as the night, and black as the scales upon the fiend’s body.

 

 


End file.
